Do as You are Told
by Linstock
Summary: In which Nurse Chapel is irritated and Dr McCoy does what he is told. This was written in response to this prompt at stxihetkinkmeme, you know what to expect.


Title: **Do as You are Told**.

Author: Linstock

Pairing: McCoy/Chapel

Rating: R

Type: TOS, Sexy; Angst

Warning: Explicit sex, irritated nurse.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, the characters, or profit from this writing.

Summary: This was written in response to this prompt at stxihetkinkmeme.

"_It seems most of this fic usually has McCoy in the "pushed Chapel against the wall to instigate sexytimes" role so to speak, and it's all awesome, really. But can I get some Chapel in that role? I don't care if it's an existing relationship or Christine has finally just HAD it with the sexual tension arguing in Sickbay and decides to do something about it."_

As ever the wonderful Spocklikescats has patiently and carefully fixed my gross gramma, patchy punctuation and stupid spelling...all for the love of the fandom and the comments of the readers.

**Do as You are Told. **

Dr Leonard McCoy heard the door of his office in the medical bay swish open. He recognised the familiar footsteps and started talking without turning around.

"Christine, I'm done here. I'm dead on my feet. What a day. I'm gonna go take a long, hot shower. The files you need are on the desk. " Straightening up, the doctor placed both hands in the small of his back and arched backward, stretching his tired and abused muscles. "I'm still worried about Sulu's fingers. I'm not sure he'll have full movement." He rubbed the back of his neck to ease his growing headache.

Heading for the door, he passed Nurse Chapel. " 'Night, Christine," he mumbled.

He was just lifting his hand to press the door control – when he was grabbed at the back of his tunic, pulled backward, spun around, then slammed against the wall with enough force to cause the air to huff painfully out of his lungs.

_What the – _he became aware of Nurse Chapel, up in his face, her eyes blazing and nostrils flared. McCoy instinctively drew back, sucking in his belly, rising up on the balls of his feet. _Good God, less than five hours ago a Klingon pirate looked at me just the same way - if Spock hadn't - No!_ McCoy didn't want to think about that – or … _the damage Spock suffered saving my life –and all the bloody mayhem that came after_. _It's a certifiable miracle I only got grazed across my cheek and slashed across my throat … that blow coulda killed me._ Just thinking about the wound made it throb.

As if the day had not been bad enough and long enough … if anything could spoil McCoy's day more than almost getting killed, it was watching his _friends _almost getting killed and having to stitch them back together later… now, to top it off, Nurse Chapel appeared to be having some sort of an episode. "What the hell, Christine…?" he rasped.

"You … could … have … _died_." She emphasised each word by banging her fist, which was bunching up his tunic front, repeatedly against his chest.

"Now, now, Christine," he said placating, moving forward a bit with his hands raised as if in surrender.

"Don't you _Christine_ me," she hissed. McCoy remembered that tone – his ex-wife had used it on numerous occasions — it had _never_ boded well.

"I don't understand," he said: he really meant it. What had turned reliable, stable, calm Christine Chapel into a violent, hissing, crazy woman?

Putting a hand on each of his shoulders Christine shoved him hard against the wall again. This time his head hit too and his headache flared into life. Her glittering blue eyes were icy with rage. "You _don't _understand." She seemed to be barely able to form the words. "You _don't!_ You stupid man! You almost got yourself killed! _Damn_ it, Leonard … damn it! " She gave him one last hard shove and stepped away from him.

McCoy stared at her. "Nothing really happened Christine, I'm fine."

She was back up in his face in a flash. She yanked down the neckline of his shirt so hard he heard the stitching popping along the seams. In a band across throat the skin was still shinny and livid, indicating recent deep dermal regeneration. "That wound was made by a razor-sharp sword. Do you know how I know it was razor sharp?" The question was rhetorical because she didn't pause for breath. "I saw what it did to Commander Spock and Lieutenant Sulu." She let go of his neckline and gave him another shove, half heartedly this time.

She turned and walked across the room. Her back to him, she was bracing herself on the edge of the desk, breathing erratically. Taking deep gulps as she spoke, her words came in fits and starts. "For _three months_ I have waited for you to man up and discuss what happened at the Christmas party, and for three months you've ignored the issue, my invitations to talk and just … _everything …_ and then … then …" her voice faded away.

"Christine, nothing happened that night that two adult…"

She whirled around. He pressed back against the wall, but she stayed where she was. Her glare seared him from across the office as she demanded, "What _is_ it with you and 'Nothing happened'? You're nearly killed and 'nothing happened', we make out like teenagers and 'nothing happened'. Nothing! Or is that an everyday occurrence for Leonard Casanova McCoy?"

"But we didn't ..."

"We didn't finish the meal, Dr McCoy – but we had the entree and started the main course. _You_ know, and _I _know, if that drunken kid hadn't ..."

"He's twenty–four – "

" – And can't hold his liquor."

McCoy nodded, conceding this point.

"If he hadn't fallen down that ladder we would have ..."

McCoy had the grace to blush. "Yes … we would have." Their eyes met, and they studied each other.

_And __how_, his mind added. That night he had drunk just enough to be mellow, but still fully in control. And it had been so good …

_The senior nurse could certainly kiss and she felt so __right__. At first they explored each other in a soft and dreamy way. Teasing and tasting each other, their passion was like a shot of raw whisky when you are oh so dry –the burn in the pit of your stomach, the heady glowing rush of spreading warmth ... _

How many nights since then had he woken in a hot sweat remembering the feel of her mouth on him, or the taste of her … her hands, stroking his hair, his skin … her sighs of pleasure as he returned these touches? They were just starting the "main course" when their comms started to chime. Some damn drunk junior engineer had taken a header down an access ladder. Never mind what he'd been doing drunk and in Engineering when not even on duty – McCoy never did find out – but by the time they had come out of surgery, Christine Chapel and Leonard McCoy had been stone-cold sober and shaking with exhaustion. Talk about ruining the mood.

As time passed, McCoy had never found a way to raise the issue and so had just let it slide. He was waiting for the right time … and it never seemed to come.

Chapel was still staring at him. now tilting her head, looking thoughtful. She appeared to make a decision, strode over and jabbed him hard in the solar plexus with her finger. "You will _not_ die without finishing what you started, do you understand me?" She slipped her hand into the waist band of his trousers, causing McCoy's eyes to fly open. Then she gripped the fabric and backed across the room to perch on the edge of his desk pulling him after her.

"Tell the door to lock," she snapped.

"Door lock," McCoy obeyed without question, feeling sightly dazed. They heard the soft snick of the lock.

"Drop your pants."

McCoy goggled at her.

"I'm not _asking_, Leonard McCoy, I'm _telling_ you, drop them, now!"

He did.

She reached between his legs and gently took him in both her hands, smiling hungrily as he hardened under her touch.

"Very nice," she purred. She stood then, releasing him, and shimmied out of her panties.

Returning to the desk, she wriggled back a little.

"Now, Doctor, you'll finish what you started three months ago. Got it? Proceed."

McCoy was breathing hard - this was unreal … _sur_real – but he wanted to, so much, he felt his breath rasping in his throat and heat pooling in his loins.

Soft hands cupped his face and pulled him forward and down and the lips he had dreamed about were against his and so very soft, warm and alive. Her mouth tasted of apples and cinnamon, fresh and slightly sweet. Some fool was groaning … he realised it was him.

Against his ear and she whispered, "Now just be a good boy and do as you are told. I have a question and you're going to answer it."

"Yes ma'am. What question?" he asked in a daze. Smiling, she wrapped those perfect long, strong legs around him and pulled him in toward her. She reached down, stroking him a few times, then fitted him just where she wanted him, pressed hard against his buttocks with her heels and rocked her hips toward him. McCoy felt himself slip deeply inside.

"Show me you're alive," she challenged him.

McCoy felt the throbbing warmth of her, of him, the pulse of life burning in his veins. He _was_ alive and he could feel and what he felt was so good. He moved slowly at first, his eyes closing, savouring the pull and glide, every nerve in his body firing. He leaned over her, pushed in deep and hard and pressed his lips against hers in an aching kiss. She rose slightly to draw the kiss from him then lay back on the desk arching toward him. McCoy pushed the hem of her uniform up to expose her flat belly, then her ribs. Resting his hands on her torso, he drove into her with the steady beat of life.

The pressure of pleasure began to build. Christine used her legs to pull herself onto him, deepening each stroke. Thrusting, McCoy felt her cervix; he was as far inside her as it was possible to be. He felt her hand slide between them, her fingers caressing her clitoris. He smiled at her tenderly, and she returned the smile. The warmth and softness of her thighs pressing around him, the feel of her busy fingers, and her aching cries, combined with the glorious sensations of their sliding and impacting together coalesced; McCoy crested a wave and, teetering, felt suspended in time.

He opened his eyes and gazed at Christine. She lay on his desk, smoky eyed and utterly splendid, watching him. She smiled and whispered, "Come for me, Len."

Still he stayed poised on the edge, not wanting the moment to end.

Christine's smile became slightly feral. "Do as you're told," she commanded as she rocked her hips toward him and squeezed hard with her vaginal muscles. He obeyed; with a cry that was half a sob, he bucked against her, swelling and releasing, and that was all it took to trigger her climax too.

Afterward, he lay over her partly supported by his elbows. Christine wrapped her arms around him, stroking and soothing his back and shoulders. It felt so damn good.

"Headache gone?" she said archly. He nodded, rather stupidly, then rolled his eyes.

Eventually his legs and back began to protest and he reluctantly straightened. He saw the desk view screen was filled with row after row of "w"s. Christine's arm had accidentally hit the keypad as she climaxed. He grinned then and reached for a towel as he withdrew and cleaned himself and her. She lay and watched him, totally at ease.

Fastening his trousers, McCoy heard Chapel rise and retrieve her panties then move to the sink. When he turned around she looked much the same as always. McCoy felt an inner jolt as his body remembered just what had happened and what Christine had felt like. He drew a deep calming breath.

Chapel moved close to him and smiled; he returned the smile, feeling strangely shy. Reaching up, she took his face in her hands and kissed him soft and slow. She moved her mouth brushing gently against his neck, then her warm breath tickled his ear as she whispered, "The answer is yes."

McCoy was confused. "What was the question?"

Christine's smile seemed to be a challenge.

"That's what you have to figure out."

She walked to the door, pressed the manual override to unlock it, and walked serenely out, leaving McCoy staring after her.

The End.

A/N: Come on…how about a comment?


End file.
